Friday, September 16, 2005
Leavin' on a Jet Plane...don't know whether I'll crash into a burning pile of twisted metal rubble or not.
Surprisingly, I was energetic this morning. It's amazing what two hours of sleep can do to revitalize one. And I'm still going. I think I've told everyone and his dog this morning (a yorkshire terrier outside the bookstore in the airport gates) that my brother is getting married. It's all so...weird, but nice too. Puts more pressure on me to not end up an old hag though.
I'm sitting at the Devil's plaything right now (an IBM) in the depths of Hell right now (Indigo), waiting for my bording call. I almost died via shuttle bus this morning. Coincidentally, it was the same year and make of the white Katimavik van that we rolled at the end of 2001 and smashed to a pulp. My driver appeared to be a geriatric NASCAR driver. When the sides of a metal trap with wheels are vibrating...you might be going too fast. When you can't tell the make of the cars you are passing...you might be going exceedingly fast, all to get me to the airport (the sole passenger) two and a half hours before my flight.
I ran into WestJet's ex-boyfriend at the airport. He checked me in, and we chatted at the Tim Horton line up. He barely recognised me, and I him, but it wasn't awkward at all. Except for thoughts of "you touched his DING-A-LING!"
After that, I just stood and read on the peripheries of Indigo. I essentially skimmed through the new Peter C. Newmann book on Brian Mulroney, in that length of time. More on that later, I got quotes. I think I'd be interested in reading the whole thing at length though, so I'll borrow it from Harlot. Because you know she has like, an autographed fanatic's copy or something...
Whassat? Want a teaser? MELODRAMATIC PENIS FUNCTIONALITY CONTEST.
I'll miss you guys, don't debauch too much. ¶ 11:54 AM
I'm sitting at the Devil's plaything right now (an IBM) in the depths of Hell right now (Indigo), waiting for my bording call. I almost died via shuttle bus this morning. Coincidentally, it was the same year and make of the white Katimavik van that we rolled at the end of 2001 and smashed to a pulp. My driver appeared to be a geriatric NASCAR driver. When the sides of a metal trap with wheels are vibrating...you might be going too fast. When you can't tell the make of the cars you are passing...you might be going exceedingly fast, all to get me to the airport (the sole passenger) two and a half hours before my flight.
I ran into WestJet's ex-boyfriend at the airport. He checked me in, and we chatted at the Tim Horton line up. He barely recognised me, and I him, but it wasn't awkward at all. Except for thoughts of "you touched his DING-A-LING!"
After that, I just stood and read on the peripheries of Indigo. I essentially skimmed through the new Peter C. Newmann book on Brian Mulroney, in that length of time. More on that later, I got quotes. I think I'd be interested in reading the whole thing at length though, so I'll borrow it from Harlot. Because you know she has like, an autographed fanatic's copy or something...
Whassat? Want a teaser? MELODRAMATIC PENIS FUNCTIONALITY CONTEST.
I'll miss you guys, don't debauch too much. ¶ 11:54 AM
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Hey! You know I still read up on you... even if I don't post anything. :)
Hmm that shuttlebus ride would have been us in August, had I not lost my job. (ah yes, back to the hate and discontent that is Fast food... at least for a while)
Is it just me or do all people who drive mass transit vehicles seem to drive like they're ALMOST gonna kill you? You'd most likely die from a heart attack because of how close to impact you come.
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Hmm that shuttlebus ride would have been us in August, had I not lost my job. (ah yes, back to the hate and discontent that is Fast food... at least for a while)
Is it just me or do all people who drive mass transit vehicles seem to drive like they're ALMOST gonna kill you? You'd most likely die from a heart attack because of how close to impact you come.
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